Threads
by hardly loquacious
Summary: "Because I didn't tell anyone," Jane interrupted. "So you say," Lisbon agreed. "And let's say I agree with you, which I do by the way. But then, what other alternative is there, besides assuming that Red John actually is psychic?" It's a problem that Lisbon can't let go. There must be an answer. And after obsesing for hours, she thinks she might have actualy found one. Post 5.22


A/N: So, I wasn't really wild about the finale. I didn't hate it, but I didn't absolutely love it either. However, it may be growing on me in hindsight in many ways. I did have a thought that wouldn't let go, so I did something I haven't done in quite some time. I wrote post-ep fic less than 24 hours after the episode aired. I hope you enjoy it.

Threads

xxx

Jane sat on his make-shift cot, his head in his hands as the shadows lengthened and faded into the darkness of the attic as the sun dipped behind the building next door. He was doing what he'd been doing for the past several hours.

Trying very hard not to think about who would be next.

First Leelee Barlow, then who? Who else would Red John dig up from his past? Or his present?

All the people he'd met over the years, all the people he'd known. There were just too many of them. There was no way of protecting them all, or even warning them. Not without narrowing down the list, or coming up with a way of eliminating them from suspicion.

Jane had no idea what Red John's goal was. It could be anything. To knock him off balance, or cause him the most pain. It certainly wasn't to kill him quickly.

Jane knew he shouldn't panic. He knew it was what Red John wanted, knew he needed a clear head if he was to have any hope of stemming the body count. A new wave of fear washed over him.

The body count.

It was going to increase. That much was certain. And he had no idea who would be next.

Would it be another casual acquaintance from childhood? A man he'd met once on the street? Would it be an old friend or a new one?

Maybe even a team member.

What, or _who_, was the serial killer working towards?

Jane clenched his hands into fists and tried with all his might to keep his heart rate steady.

He had a horrible feeling he already knew the answer to that question.

And he couldn't bear it.

He stood up abruptly, intending to pace, when a knock on the door interrupted him.

His heart constricted at the sound of her voice.

"Jane! I know you're in there, open up! It's important."

He sighed. Of course it was. Everything was important now. Everything was tinged with a terrible sense of urgency. Everything, and nothing.

He opened the door and ushered her in.

Lisbon's eyes were wide and shining with an almost crazed kind of triumph.

Jane wasn't sure whether the sight made him hopeful or terrified.

"Sophie Miller!" she proclaimed exultantly as the door slid shut behind her.

Jane's heart leapt to his throat. He almost couldn't speak. He hadn't expected anything so soon after the video, and not Sophie. He swallowed. "Is she…"

Lisbon's face shifted almost immediately to contrition. "No! Oh god, no! I'm sorry! I didn't realize how that would sound. I just…"

Jane nodded absently, dropping weakly back onto the cot, his head in his hands.

Lisbon crouched in front of him. "I'm sorry, Jane," she said softly. "I'm so sorry. I didn't think."

Jane let his hands fall to his knees, relieved to see that he crazy light in her eyes had been doused by contrition. He tried to smile at her. "I guess I'm a little on edge."

She nodded, reaching a hand up to rub his elbow. Then, placing her hands on her knees, she pushed herself up to stand over him, knowing what he needed from her right now. "Well, pull yourself together!" she ordered curtly. "I need you on your A game right now."

Jane looked up at her, a hint of curiosity in his eye. "Sophie Miller?" he asked after a moment.

Lisbon nodded. "I've been thinking about it all night, that memory of yours. Of Eileen being held up in the air. I've been thinking how Red John could have known about it, especially since you say you never told anyone."

"Because I didn't tell anyone," Jane interrupted.

"You say that, but obviously you did," Lisbon replied.

"No, I didn't," Jane insisted stubbornly, standing to face her on even ground. "And don't tell me that I might have forgotten, because I think I've proven over the last few months that my memory's a hell of a lot better than everyone else's."

"So you say," Lisbon agreed. "And let's say I agree with you, which I do by the way. But then, what other alternative is there, besides assuming that Red John actually _is _psychic?"

Jane huffed derisively and declined to answer.

"I've been obsessing over it all night," Lisbon told him. "Thinking about this case, and what happened when we went to meet Sean Barlow, and what he said about Red John having powers. And, here's what I came up with, either Red John is psychic, and maybe even Sean is psychic. It's possible, but I decided that wasn't really an acceptable explanation for me. It's something a person maybe believes for a minute or so, when you're first confronted with the trick, but then, when you stop and think about it for a minute, you remember it's not really possible. That was when I realized you _must_ have told someone."

"Lisbon, I would have remembered," Jane insisted tiredly. And he didn't. He'd been wracking his brain all night when he wasn't panicking, and he didn't remember ever telling anyone the story. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this frustrated.

"You might have remembered if you were thinking clearly at the time," Lisbon agreed. "But what if you let it slip when your mind wasn't working properly? When you weren't thinking? When you were in no state to know?" she asked.

Then, in a lightning flash, Jane had a horrible feeling he knew where she was going with this. "Like a man whose mind was so broken he needed to be committed to a mental institution," he whispered.

Lisbon nodded. "And happy memories are exactly the sort of thing psychiatrists like to ask their patients about."

"Sophie Miller," Jane said, staring at the wall, his mind whirling at the possibilities her suggestion had opened up.

"How much of that time to you remember, Jane?" she asked gently, shifting towards him and placing a hand on his shoulder.

He hesitated. Flinched really. Took a deep breath. "Not… not all of it."

"So it's possible," Lisbon prompted.

He nodded once. "It's possible."

"I pulled her address from the DMV database," Lisbon told him. "It's not too late to go pay her a visit."

Jane was sorting the streams of information in his brain into usable courses of action again. "But what if she's involved?" he said softly.

"You don't think she is," Lisbon replied. "You never did."

"I've made mistakes before," Jane said.

Lisbon shook her head. "Not many. Mostly he just finds out about your plans before you can complete them."

He stared at her, ridiculously grateful for the lie.

"And anyways, what other choice is there?" she asked. "Red John already knows what you know. If Sophie is involved, maybe she'll let something else slip. If she's not, we're that much closer."

Jane nodded, realizing she was right. Even if Sophie was in league with Red John, well, his position couldn't really get much worse, so why not? And if she wasn't, if it was possible that he had told her the story about Leelee, and Sophie had then passed it on in casual conversation, and she remembered who to, well…

Jane's eyes lit up. "Sophie Miller," he said softly.

Lisbon nodded, a hint of a smile on her face.

Jane stared at her, trying to memorize her face, before taking two steps across the room and wrapping his arms around here. This impossible woman who somehow managed to pull him out of near-despair and offer him a thread of hope. Only a thread, but it was enough.

He tightened his hold on her, pleased when, after stiffening momentarily, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders awkwardly.

"Thank you Lisbon," he murmured against her hair.

"If you think I'm going to stand idly by and let him come after you, you're nuts," she muttered back.

And to think he'd been entertaining the idea of not telling her his Red John suspects only twenty-four hours earlier. More fool him. "You know I'll do whatever I can to keep you safe," was all he said.

He felt her arms clench around his shoulders briefly.

Then Jane felt her spine stiffen, and he decided to cut off her impending argument about how she was a cop who could take care of herself.

"So, shall we go and visit an old friend?" he asked her with a sunny smile.

Lisbon shook her head, but let him lead her out of the attic.

It wasn't much of a plan, but at least they were doing _something._

xxx

The drive to Sophie Miller's house was mostly silent. Jane was content to sit in the passenger seat, lost in his thoughts, trying both not to worry and not to hope.

Trying to be calm.

Either Sophie would know something or she wouldn't. There was no point in worrying over it one way or another until he could ask her.

If she didn't, well, he'd just have to figure out who did. Lisbon's theory had already proven the possibility that someone might know about his memory. If this angle with Sophie didn't pan out, surely there were others. In giving him one potential solution, Jane realized Lisbon had renewed his faith in the idea that a solution might exist.

He turned towards her as they pulled up outside of Sophie Miller's house.

"Please tell me you're not even thinking of suggesting I wait in the car," Lisbon said dryly.

He shook his head affectionately. "No," he admitted. "Nothing like that."

"Good," she said firmly, moving to open her door.

He stopped her with a hand on her wrist, waiting until she met his eyes. "Lisbon, whatever happens tonight, whatever we find or don't find, just… Just thank you."

She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. She nodded once, before sliding out of the car, leaving Jane to follow her up the path to Sophie Miller's front door.

He was the one to knock.

Sophie's eyes lit up when she saw him on the other side of the door. "Patrick!" she said in surprise, until her recognition of the woman standing next to him made her face fall back into seriousness. "Agent Lisbon," she said softly.

"Dr. Miller," Lisbon replied. "Can we come in?"

"Of course," Sophie told them, opening her door a little wider. "I assume this isn't a social call?"

"I'm afraid not," Lisbon said.

"I need your help, Sophie," Jane told her honestly.

Sophie nodded, gesturing them to a living room just off the entryway. "Whatever I can do, Patrick. You should know that by now. Why don't we sit down?"

Jane nodded, sitting in one corner of the couch while Lisbon took the other, with Sophie seated across from them.

"Somehow I'm guessing you're not here for my expertise as a psychiatrist," Sophie said dryly, breaking the silence.

Jane shook his head, a small smile playing about his face. "I almost wish I were."

"Well, this must be serious then," Sophie replied playfully, leaning towards him, her hands braced on her knees. "What is it, Patrick?"

Jane hesitated, not sure how to start. His eyes flickered between the two women in the room.

Lisbon got the message. "It was kind of dry in the car on the way over, I could use a glass of water," she said standing. "Do you mind if I go grab one?"

Sophie shook her head. "Of course not, I should have…"

Lisbon waved her off. "It's just water. Kitchen's that way?" she asked, gesturing to the door behind her.

Sophie nodded. "Help yourself."

The psychiatrist watched her go before turning back to the man sitting opposite her. "She's getting better."

"Better at what?" Jane asked, a familiar smile playing about his mouth.

Sophie smiled back. "Reading you."

Jane paused, the observation causing him to deflate slightly given the events of the past twenty-four hours, and their obvious implications. "Yes, yes she has."

Sophie leaned forward, reaching a hand out, obviously concerned. "Patrick, I didn't mean to…"

Jane drew his hand back slightly with a sigh. "I know. She's gotten better at a lot of things."

Sophie nodded, accepting that. "Well, whatever Agent Lisbon's virtues, she's not going to hide out in the kitchen indefinitely, so why don't you ask me what you came to ask?"

"You know I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important," Jane said slowly.

Sophie smiled sadly. "Of course I know that, Patrick. Just ask me. I give you permission to ask the blunt question, not that you usually require it."

Jane nodded. "Did you ever tell anyone about what I said to you while I was in therapy? About the stories I told you during our sessions?"

Predictably, Sophie jerked back like she'd been struck. "I can't believe you would even ask me that. You know…"

But Jane's tone turned hard. "I know that you've skirted the line around professional ethics more than once, in more ways than one."

"_Patrick…"_

"And I told you it was important," Jane reminded her softly. "Very important."

Sophie hesitated. "I…"

"Even if it wasn't by name," Jane pushed. "Did you ever mention anything I told you? Maybe while you were swapping stories with colleagues?"

"Doctors do that all the time," Sophie said weakly. "So we can share experiences, maybe learn from each other. And we never mention names. It's just shop talk. You must know how it is."

Jane nodded. "I do. And I'm not judging you for it, Sophie. Or even blaming you. But I need to know, maybe you didn't mention me by name," Jane suggested. But she wouldn't have to, if she was talking to the right person. "But maybe you mentioned someone else I knew. Maybe you mentioned that story I told you, about my happy memory, about Leelee... Eileen Barlow, the story with the little girl in the sun?"

Sophie froze almost imperceptibly, before moving to an immediate denial. "No, I…"

"Don't lie to me, Sophie," Jane warned. "I'm not here because I care about a professional ethics violation and you know it."

"It just, it stuck with me," she whispered. "That story, that image, and that song. That and the fact that you were in such a dark place, but you still had this memory of light and happiness, even after everything you'd been through. I may have mentioned it to someone in passing, but I can't think that I mentioned names…"

"Yes, you did," Jane said firmly.

"Not yours," she whispered.

Jane leaned forward. He'd suspected as much. His name wasn't the important one. "Who?"

"Patrick…" she pleaded

"Lives are in danger, Sophie," Jane said harshly. "I have no idea how many. More than you can imagine. Probably even yours. This isn't time to feel guilty over your screw-up. Who did you tell? I need a name."

"Tell us the name, Sophie," Lisbon said softly, walking back into the room. "You're a smart woman. You've guessed why we need it. You've guessed what would be important enough to bring us here out of the blue unannounced this late at night."

"But I can't believe he would…" Sophie said softly.

"No one ever can," Lisbon assured her. "Maybe he didn't. Maybe he told someone else. Either way, we need to know."

"Please, Sophie," Jane said. "You saved my life once; I need you to do it again."

"You think he'll come after you?" Sophie asked.

"Eventually," Jane told her. "Once he's gone through everyone else."

Sophie swallowed. "Robin O'Grady," she said eventually. "He was a resident at one of the hospitals I was affiliated with at the time. He'd just finished med school a couple of years earlier. He was thinking of specializing in psychiatry."

Jane and Lisbon shared a look.

Jane reached into his pocket for a small stack of photographs and held up one of Sheriff McAllister. "Did he look like this?"

Sophie shook her head. "No."

Jane held out a photo of Brent Partridge. "What about this?"

Sophie took it, shaking her head. "No." Then she gasped. "Actually, I remember seeing him though, with Robin. I think they were friends, colleagues maybe, in the hospital. He wasn't a doctor, but he was... around. Oh god…"

Lisbon handed the woman the glass of water she'd gotten from the kitchen. "It's okay," she said. "Drink this."

Sophie took a sip before composing herself. "I'm okay. I'm fine. Is he…"

"Do you really want to know the answer to that?" Jane asked.

Sophie paused. "I don't know."

"Was Robin the only one you told?" Jane asked. "Think hard Sophie. It's important."

She swallowed. "He was."

"You're sure?" Jane asked harshly. Brent Partridge had never been at the top of his suspect list, and he needed to be sure. Needed to be sure they weren't both being set up.

She nodded miserably. "I'm sure, because I realized as soon as I said it that I'd told Robin her name. It was the one rule I never broke. I'd never done that with anyone else, but I remember he was just so easy to talk to…" She trailed off. "I only did it the once. I felt so terrible afterwards that it was never an issue again. I'm so sorry, Patrick."

Jane just glanced away, his heart beating hard. If that was true, if Brent really had known about the memory... "If you're sure he's the only one you told…"

"I'm sure," Sophie told him. "I swear to god, I'm sure."

"And did you keep records of your sessions with Jane?" Lisbon asked, seeing the look on Jane's face and determined to be cautious.

Jane looked over at her, realizing his own distraction in the fact that he hadn't thought to ask the question first.

"Obviously, I kept records of my sessions," Sophie replied, the return of the familiar tinge of arrogance in her voice setting Lisbon's teeth on edge. "I do with all my patients. But my sessions with Patrick weren't recorded, either audio or video. I knew he would never agree to that. Even under the circumstances…"

Lisbon pressed on. "But you took notes."

"Of course. I type up notes at least twice a day," Sophie told her. "It's common practice. I do it for all my patients. But they're protected by at least three layers of electronic security in the facility's personnel files. Maybe more, since the treatment's managed to disappear off Jane's permanent record."

"That wouldn't matter," Jane murmured, feeling dispirited. "He's got copies. Somehow, he's got copies."

"I guess anyone with access to the facility's network back then could have hacked in," Sophie agreed softly. Then she perked up, "But I wouldn't have mentioned her name. I always tried not to, in print. Particularly when names weren't significant, and hers wasn't. It's a little precaution of mine, just in case. I have a good memory for names anyway, so I don't need to."

Jane looked up. "So you're saying the only way he could have found out the name from you was if he'd talked to you."

"Yes."

"And you only ever told one person?" Jane confirmed again.

"Yes."

"So either he told Red John," Jane mused. "Or you're lying, and you've been working with the man who killed my family all along."

Sophie looked suitably horrified at the suggestion. "Patrick!"

Jane wasn't contrite. He watched her face carefully as he continued. "What? The possibility's occurred to me before. I dismissed it as paranoia each and every time, but it's occurred to me. It would be a devious plot, inserting a psychiatrist he could trust to treat me. Make sure he got to see exactly how much he broke me. It's exactly what he would do."

"After all that we've been through, I don't know how you can ask me that."

"And after all that I've been through, I don't know how I can't not. And I need to know if you're lying to me, Sophie."

Sophie watched him, the anger in her eyes replaced with sadness. "If you never believe another thing I say to you Patrick, believe this. I know I've made mistakes in the past, lots of them, but I've never made that mistake. I would never deliberately…"

"Why should I believe you?" Jane asked.

"Because you always could tell if I was lying eventually. How good an actress do you think I am?" she asked.

"You're better than most," Jane told her. "Better than Lisbon."

"Hey!" Lisbon objected.

"The ability to hide your feelings isn't everything," Sophie told her. "The fact that you can't says a lot about the type of person you must be, given your profession."

Lisbon watched her carefully. "Now you're flattering both of us."

Sophie shook her head. "I'm stating facts. Patrick is good at reading people. You know the truth of that. You both do." She turned back to Jane. "Do you believe me Patrick? That I'm not involved?"

"You almost fooled me once," Jane said slowly.

"But I _didn't,_" Sophie reminded him earnestly.

"You didn't want to give me a name when I first asked you for one, "Jane reminded her.

"Because I knew I made a mistake," Sophie explained. "I was ashamed and frightened."

"Frightened of what?" Jane asked.

She stared at him incredulously for a moment. "The two of you show up here in the middle of the night demanding answers, Patrick. You're right, there's only one thing that could be about. And the fact that I might have answers to give you, related to… _that_, is terrifying to me."

Jane watched her for a moment, before nodding. "I'll believe you, because I don't see that I have a choice not to."

"That's not exactly a ringing endorsement," Sophie said dryly, leaning back in her chair.

"And you can't contact me," Jane told her. "Not for a while at least. Me or Lisbon."

"What?" Sophie asked in confusion. "What if I remember something?"

Jane shook his head. "You won't. There'll be nothing else to remember."

"And if you do contact us, you'll increase the chance that he finds out, and he'll kill you," Lisbon told her.

The colour drained from Sophie's face. "You think he would…"

"Even if you hadn't talked to us, as someone who was once close to me, you'd be a prime target," Jane told her. "And we can't protect you. Because of who he is, and because we don't know who he'll go after."

"Patrick…" she whispered.

"If there's ever an emergency," Lisbon told her. "Call us. In the meantime, don't change your routine. Don't do anything suspicious."

"Oh my god," Sophie gasped.

"I'm sorry, Sophie," Jane said softly as he stood to go.

She shook her head. "You're not to blame for this."

Jane didn't answer, turning towards the door.

The psychiatrist turned towards Lisbon. "When I told Robin that story, I knew I shouldn't have, but I never imagined that…"

"You couldn't have known," Lisbon said gently. "And he'd have found something, somehow. If not from you, from someone else. This isn't your fault."

Sophie nodded. "Do you really think I'm in danger?"

Lisbon paused. "I honestly don't know. I have no idea who's in danger. If you see anything, call me immediately."

"You told me not to call you," Sophie reminded her.

Lisbon smiled. "That would be the exception."

Jane was waiting for them by the front door. "Good night Sophie, and thank you."

She reached up and kissed him on the cheek, patting his shoulder once.

Jane just watched her for a moment, before turning to leave.

Sophie stopped Lisbon in the doorway with a hand on her arm. The other woman turned towards him in question.

"Take care of him," she said softly.

Lisbon paused, before nodding. "I'll do my best."

Surprisingly, Sophie smiled. "I know you will. He's right, you know. There really isn't a hint of deceit in you."

"Let's hope he's right about more than that," Lisbon replied.

Sophie paused. She remembered her fascination with Jane's abilities. What he was able to do and see, so easily. "He is," she assured the other woman.

Lisbon shrugged. "Okay."

"Good luck," Sophie murmured, letting go of the other woman's arm. She waited until she was midway down the path before calling back softly. "And Agent Lisbon?"

Lisbon turned.

"Be well," Sophie whispered. "Both of you."

Lisbon nodded. "You too."

Lisbon walked slowly to the car, not entirely sure how she was feeling. Sophie Miller had always rubbed her the wrong way, though Lisbon was well aware that could have been for reasons entirely unrelated to Red John. Her attitude for one, could have used a little adjustment. Lisbon climbed into the driver's seat of the SUV, noting that Jane was already in the passenger seat, staring out the window.

"Do you trust her?" she asked softly.

"I trust almost no one," he replied.

"Jane?" Lisbon prompted.

He tried to explain. "You told me once that you needed to trust the FBI, because you needed to feel solid ground beneath your feet."

She remembered that. It seemed ages ago. Ages ago, and also yesterday. "Yeah."

"Maybe I need to trust her," Jane replied. The idea that the woman who had saved his life had only done it so a man she was working for could tear him back down... Jane suppressed a shiver. The notion was horrifying.

Lisbon watched him for a moment. "I can understand that," she said eventually.

"We should still probably run her phone records, particularly for this evening," Jane conceded. "Make sure she's not on the phone right now, calling someone to tell them we visited."

"Okay."

"I don't think she's lying though," he said after a moment. He didn't think so, but he couldn't be certain. Not anymore.

"Neither do I," Lisbon assured him. Whatever her faults, Sophie Miller had always seemed genuinely fond of Jane.

"You missed half our conversation…" Jane reminded her.

"I was listening at the door," Lisbon replied easily.

Jane found a small smile for her. "Such subterfuge, Lisbon."

"You knew I would," Lisbon shot back.

"I suspected," Jane admitted. Not that he minded. It made things easier in the long run. "Didn't trust me to tell you what happened?" he asked lightly.

Lisbon shook her head. "I think you need someone to keep an eye on you."

"Who's going to keep an eye on you?" Jane wondered, not for the first time.

"I've got my team," she told him as she started the SUV and pulled out onto the street.

"Promise you'll be careful," he said softly. "I told you, I'll do what I can, but I don't know if…"

Lisbon's heart gave a single thud as he pulled out into the street. She focussed on the road in front of her, deliberately not glancing at the man next to her. "Speaking of keeping an eye on people. I called in a favour from an old friend. She's going to swing by Sophie's place from time to time, check that she's okay. Just as a bit of added security, what little we can give. Even lives in the area so it won't be suspicious."

Jane stared at her scandalized. The whole _point_ of this was to keep it a secret from as many people as possible. No one could know. "Lisbon! You can't just…"

"It's okay," Lisbon assured him. "I trust her, and so do you."

Jane scowled. "I told you, I don't trust…"

"Not even ex-Directors of the CBI?" Lisbon wondered innocently.

Jane was about to retort when he paused, considered, and shut his mouth. When he opened it again, it was to say an entirely different thing. "Madeleine lives in this neighbourhood?"

"Just moved here a few months ago," Lisbon confirmed.

Jane mulled that information over in his brain. Lisbon was right, he didn't necessarily object. There were very few people Jane was fairly certain weren't on Red John's payroll, but Madeleine Hightower was one of them. "I wasn't aware you'd kept in touch."

"I told you," Lisbon said archly. "I'm better at keeping secrets than you think."

That made him grin in earnest, in spite of himself. "What else haven't you been telling me, woman?"

She just smiled. "So, what's your plan?"

Jane smiled back. "Ask me again when we get back to Sacramento."

Lisbon nodded. That meant he didn't have one yet, but that was okay. They were still better off than they had been only an hour earlier.

Maybe Brent Partridge had been set up. Maybe it was all a coincidence. Or maybe it was the start of something.

A thread of the truth.

That was the hope she was clinging to.

It wasn't much, but they had a start.

xxx


End file.
